


Converging on an Inescapable Conclusion

by Remy_Writes5



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Orphanage, Blood, Childhood Friends, Dark John, Drug Use, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Obsessive Jim, Possessive Behavior, Psychopaths In Love, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, kind of, unethical behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 02:17:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5073559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remy_Writes5/pseuds/Remy_Writes5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“John, I appreciate your loyalty, but you don’t seem to understand what Jim is,” Mr. Kinkade informed him.<br/>Jim’s smile faltered. Don’t tell him, Jim begged silently. Don’t you dare tell him.<br/>“He’s a psychopath, John,” Mr. Kinkade informed him. “He can't care for another person. I’m sure he manipulated you into this friendship in the first place. He has no compassion for other people, he’s incapable of it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inescapable

            **Jim Moriarty: 10 Years Old –**

Jim Moriarty wasn’t allowed to have toys. In the orphanage where he lived, the pathetic array of second-hand toys were off limits to him. While Jim had the utmost respect for them when it was his turn, he would often ruin them if he saw someone else playing with a toy he had used previously. He wasn’t sure why but seeing the toy in another boy’s hand was just wrong. It was wrong and the toy was _his_ and they should just keep their stupid hands off.

            Jim grew up in the orphanage. He never had any delusions of a family whisking him off to a better life like the other children did. He had plans for when he was able to leave this horrid place. He didn’t _want_ a family. They would only get in his way.

            When he was ten years old, a family took him home to “see if he was a good fit.” Jim slept on a bed that was so soft it set his teeth on edge. The man and women were always so cheerful around him that it made him want to snap. Eventually they took Jim back to the orphanage after he almost succeeded in killing their cat by tying firecrackers to its tail.

            Jim was labeled as “disturbed’ and someone was brought in to “deal with him.” He was forced to talk to someone twice a week in order to get his _moods_ under control.

            After the counselor, Mr. Kinkade, brought up words like “emotionally disturbed” and “psychotic” Jim decided to retaliate. He snuck into Mr. Kinkade’s office late one night and destroyed everything on his desk. Jim smiled when he saw the damage he had done. There was something beautiful in it. Something _thrilling._ Jim licked his lips and smiled. It was a work of art.

            He slipped out of the counselor’s office and nearly ran smack into another boy. The boy was short, with blond hair, clearly new. He didn’t have that broken look that the lifers had.

            Jim searched for the name. John Watson. He’d heard a few of the boys talking. John’s parents and sister had died in a car crash. John was the only survivor and without any other relatives, he had ended up here. Jim hadn’t bothered to meet him. Cute, blond haired, blue-eyed kids like him never lasted long. Someone was always looking to snatch them up as if they were a precious commodity.

            “You shouldn’t have done that,” John told him, pulling Jim from his reverie. “You’ll get in trouble.”

            “I don’t care,” Jim snapped back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

            “Yes you do,” John said levelly. Jim’s eyes snapped up and stared at John. John didn’t back down and his eyes were piercing. They were knowing. Jim didn’t like being looked at in such a way.

            “What do you know?” Jim snarled, pushing his way past John.

John reached out and grabbed Jim’s arm. “You’re only going to get yourself in trouble,” John warned.

Jim scowled at him. “What is it to you?” Jim challenged, ripping out of John’s grip. “I don’t need your help.”

Jim stalked off down the hall. He didn’t care if he got in trouble. He didn’t care about anything.

 

                                                ***

 

The next day, Jim woke up to a commotion. “What’s going on?” Jim asked one of the kids he could tolerate but hadn’t bothered to remember the name of.

“The new kid destroyed the counselor’s office,” he answered before rushing off.

Jim frowned in confusion. What was going on? Had John been spotted outside the counselor’s office and they had just assumed he was the culprit? Why would they do something so stupid when it was obviously Jim?

He made his way towards the counselor’s office. He knew better than to return to the scene of the crime but in this case he didn’t have a choice. He wasn’t going to let Watson take credit for his handiwork.

Jim shoved the door open without knocking. John was sitting in a chair opposite Mr. Kinkade and the lady who ran the orphanage, Mrs. Fairchild. John looked small in the chair as if shrinking in front of the two adults. For some reason this bothered Jim more than it should.

“Not now, Jim,” Mr. Kinkade said, dismissing him.

“I’m the one who ruined your office,” Jim blurted out. He stomped over and stood beside John.

“What are you _doing?_ ” John asked, staring at Jim incredulously.

“What are _you_ doing?” Jim shot back in annoyance.

“Boys, this is very serious,” Mrs. Fairchild informed them. “Now answer honestly, which one of you did it?”

“I did!” They both shouted in unison.

Mr. Kinkade sighed. “I’m much more inclined to believe this was Jim’s handiwork than John’s.”

Jim glared at him in response.

“No, it was!” John insisted. “I was upset when Mr. Kinkade said that I couldn’t help me with my nightmares so I – I lashed out.”

“Shut up, you idiot!” Jim snarled at him. “You’re going to get in trouble.”

“I’m fine,” John answered, staring at Jim evenly. Jim blinked in response.

“Just what are you playing at?” Jim asked, unable to figure this new kid out. Why was he doing this? Was he expecting some kind of favor from Jim?

“I’m not doing anything,” John answered, turning away.

“Okay, John,” Mr. Kinkade sighed, shaking his head. “Please leave us while we discuss things. We’ll come up with a suitable punishment.”

Jim followed John out into the hall. John stood with his back pressed up against the wall and Jim just stared at him. He was analyzing. But as smart as Jim was, he couldn’t figure John out.

“Is it true what you said in there?” Jim finally asked. “About the nightmares?”

John nodded sullenly.

“Why are you doing this?” Jim took a step closer to John. He couldn’t understand it. It didn’t make any sense. John didn’t make any sense.

“You look sad,” John whispered, glancing up at Jim. “And lonely.”

Jim’s eyes widened with surprise. He was dumbfounded.

            “I’m sad too,” John offered, reaching out and taking Jim’s hand. “I thought maybe…maybe…”

            Jim stared at the fingers laced through his own. They were shorter and thicker than Jim’s. Jim swallowed hard. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been touched.

            “I want to be your friend,” John told him softly. He gave Jim’s hand a small squeeze.

            Jim glanced up at John. He looked for any sign that John was joking, that this was all just some kind of cruel trick. A friend. He’d never had one of those before.

            “Why?” Jim asked.

            “I just do,” John said, shrugging. “Maybe then we won’t be sad anymore.”

            Jim chewed his bottom lip and considered it. When he finally nodded in consent, John’s face broke out into a wide smile. Jim liked it. He wanted more of it. Jim had a new toy. A _friend._

 

                                                            ***

 

            Jim could hear crying. That wasn’t so out of the ordinary for the boys’ dormitory where he slept. It’s that the sound of the voice is familiar.

            “ _No. Please.”_

Jim got out of his bend and silently crept towards the noise. He tiptoed past the rows of beds, searching for that familiar dark blond hair.

            “ _Don’t take them. Please.”_

Jim stopped when he was standing beside John’s bed. The covers had been kicked aside and John was turning restlessly. Jim tentatively reached out and placed his hand on John’s cheek. John body jerked at the contact and then settled once it registered there wasn’t a threat.

            Jim crawled into the bed with John. It was a tight fit but it meant the Jim got to remain close to John. He draped an arm around John’s waist and snuggled in close. John huffed out a breath and his eyes opened.

            John was crying. Jim found this unacceptable. John should never cry, should never be unhappy. That was Jim’s job and he was failing. John had said they were friends so they wouldn’t be sad anymore. Jim was _failing._ Yet he was completely at a loss on how to comfort his friend. He’d never had to do anything like this before.

            “Jim,” John said, his voice breaking.

            “Hi,” Jim responded, shifting awkwardly. What did people do in these situations?

            John grabbed Jim’s t-shirt and buried his face against Jim’s chest. He let out sobs that seemed to wrack his entire body. Jim simply held John, trying to think of the right thing to do or the right words to say. Nothing was coming to him.

            John’s sobs eventually quieted down into small hiccups. His breathing eventually deepened and the next thing Jim knew, John was asleep. His small hands were still fisted in Jim’s shirt, making sure Jim didn’t go anywhere.

            Jim didn’t sleep that night. He kept a watch on John, making sure he would be there if John needed him. John slept silently and deeply for the rest of the night.

            Perhaps Jim wasn’t failing after all.

 

                                                                        ***

 

**Jim Moriarty: 12 Years Old -**

 

            Jim felt the hand connect with his face and pain shooting up his nose. He let out a cry and stumbled back.

            “Freak,” Carl Powers spit out, hitting Jim again. This punch made contact with Jim’s stomach and he doubled over. His hands stretched out wildly as he tried to grab onto something. They were in the boys’ dormitory and everyone else had gone down to breakfast. Jim was just glad that John wasn’t there. He would have gotten caught up in it as well. Jim didn’t like seeing John get hurt.

            “You think just because you’ve got Watson hanging around you that you’re safe?” Carl said with a grin – all teeth. He grabbed Jim by the hair and pulled. “You’ve always thought you were better than the rest of us. We’ll no one wants you either, you little shit.”

            Jim winced in anticipation of the next blow. It connected with his jaw and he groaned in pain. He retreated inside himself, focusing on anything besides the pain.

            The way John’s hair smelled in the morning.

            John’s smile.

            Ways to kill Carl Powers.

            Places to dump the body so no one would ever find it.

           Mr. Kinkade’s voice echoed in his head.

            _Emotionally disturbed. Psychopathic tendencies._

Another punch and Jim fell to the ground. He was definitely going to have a black eye. He vaguely registered that Carl was screaming at him but he tuned it out. It wasn’t important.

            Not like the way John looked when he was sleeping. That was important.

            John was important.

            _Violent outbursts. Lack of empathy or remorse._

A kick came and Jim pawed at the cold ground beneath him. There was a red splotch beside him. It took him a moment that realize that it was his blood. There was a metallic taste in his mouth. He’d spit out the blood when he’d been kicked.

            _Narcissistic behavior. High intellect. Pathological liar._

Jim heard footsteps and tried to focus his vision, which had gone a bit blurry.

            “What’s going on here?” The voice was unmistakable. John.

            “No,” Jim croaked out. “John.”

            John’s footsteps sped up and then Jim could feel his presence beside him. “Jim,” John said softly, checking him. “Jim, look at me.”

            Jim groaned in response. His head was swimming and it felt heavy against the ground.

            John got to his feet and spun around quickly, staring down Carl Powers. “I’m going to make you pay for this,” he warned. Something in his voice was different. It was stronger, almost stern. It made John sound older than his twelve years.

            Jim tried to stay awake. He could hear noises and crashing sounds coming from the distance. He wanted to help John but his head hurt. Sleep sounded too good. He could only close his eyes and hope someone would come to help John.

 

                                                            ***

 

            “This friendship isn’t healthy,” Mr. Kinkade told John and Jim. “Jim seems to be a terrible influence on you, John.”

            “No he’s not,” John said defensively. “It wasn’t his fault that Carl Powers is mental.”

            “Your parents would be so disappointed to see you fighting like this.”

            Jim glanced over at John. John had his hands clenched into fists.

            “Don’t talk about my parents,” John snarled. “You didn’t know them.”

            “Mrs. Fairchild and I think you two should stay away from each other from now on,” Mr. Kinkade informed them.

            Jim looked down at his hands.

            “That’s not going to happen,” John said firmly. Jim’s eyes snapped up and he stared at John. He couldn’t help staring at John as if he blazed brighter than the sun. No one had ever stuck up for him before. It was…surprisingly satisfying.

            “John, I appreciate your loyalty, but you don’t seem to understand what Jim is,” Mr. Kinkade informed him.

            Jim’s smile faltered. _Don’t tell him,_ Jim begged silently. _Don’t you dare tell him._

“He’s a psychopath, John,” Mr. Kinkade informed him. “He can't care for another person. I’m sure he manipulated you into this friendship in the first place. He has no compassion for other people, he’s incapable of it.”

            Jim glared at Mr. Kinkade. What did that idiot know? Jim glanced over at John, begging him not to listen.

            “Jim didn’t manipulate me into anything,” John informed him. “I asked him to be my friend. And he _is_ my friend.”

            Mr. Kinkade sighed. “So you won’t listen to me.”

            “I’m sorry, Mr. Kinkade, but you’re wrong about Jim,” John informed him. “And I won’t abandon my friend.”

            With that, John turned on his heels and walked out of the counselor’s office. Jim lingered for a moment, wondering if he should say something in his own defense. He decided against it as he didn’t want to give Mr. Kinkade more fuel against him. He followed after John.

            John didn’t stop until they were back in the boy’s dormitory. Jim could see where his blood had been hastily cleaned up. The sight of it made John even angrier.

            “John?” Jim called out hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

            “No,” John said, turning around and pulling Jim into a hug. He was careful of Jim’s injuries, not hugging him very tightly for fear of injuring him further. The knowledge of that made Jim smile. “They’re wrong about you. They’re all wrong.”

            “No, they’re not, John,” Jim said with a heavy sigh.

            John let out a disgruntled noise. “Don’t say that. You’re not allowed to say that.”

            “It’s true though,” Jim informed him.

            John pulled back and stared at Jim intently. “You’re my friend, right?”

            Jim paused for a moment and then nodded his head.

            “If I left, and we weren’t friends anymore, you would be very, very sad, right?”

            Jim frowned. “You’re not allowed to leave. Not ever, John.”

            John smiled as if pleased by this.

            “I’m serious, John,” Jim informed him. “You’re not going anywhere without me.”

            John’s smile widened. “I won’t,” he promised.

            It sounded to Jim like he meant it and he found himself pleased as well.

 

                                                            ***

 

**Jim Moriarty: 15 Years Old –**

            John liked pretty girls. It was a problem and one that Jim didn’t know how to deal with. Even if he could keep John away from them, he couldn’t stop John _looking._ He would have fantasies about taking John’s eyes. John would be completely dependent on Jim with no way to see around. Jim would lead him around and take care of him. John would be his completely and his eyes wouldn’t wander.

            He would be able to tell John things, whisper in his ears. He would be John’s eyes, his connection to the world. Perhaps he would take it further, remove John’s hands, legs and nose. The only thing John would be reliant on would be Jim’s voice in his ear. John would look so lovely like that – almost skeletal. Jim would keep him thin, only feeding him enough to survive. John would thank him for every mouthful. He would thank Jim for keeping him alive.

            _No,_ Jim thought bitterly. John wouldn’t thank him for that. John would hate him. The thought was unbearable. So Jim played nice with others. He’d always been able to fake his way through social interactions. He listened to John prattle on about his girlfriends and pretend to be interested. When he was inevitably forced to meet them, Jim was all smiles and charm. He would never let John see how much this was destroying him. Each time Jim felt like he was being flayed from top to toe. John didn’t even notice. He was killing Jim little by little and he didn’t even see it.


	2. Inevitable

**John Watson: 16 Years Old -**

“Your hair’s gotten too long,” Jim said playfully, running his fingers through it.

            “Oi, shove off,” John said, but did nothing to get rid of the hand in his hair.

            Jim played with it for a bit longer and then removed his hand. John couldn’t help smiling. Jim liked touching him, that much John knew. He’d never had the courage to ask if Jim wanted to do more than touch him.

            There was something _off_ about Jim. John knew it well enough, yet he couldn’t bring himself to heed the warnings that people had given him. Everyone seemed to want to put John off Jim. John had no idea why everyone seemed to think it was their business.

            It was too late, of course. It had been since the first time Jim had crawled into John’s bed and let John cry into his shirt. John had had his hands clinging to Jim and knew he would never be strong enough to let him go. Jim could be cruel and angry at times, but John refused to give up on him. Their lives were too entwined to try and separate.

            John had thought about Jim as a brother, his best friend, for most of the time they had known each other. He knew he had replaced the family he had lost with Jim, relying on him maybe more than he should have. But he knew deep down that Jim needed him too and so he would never abandon him.

            He loved Jim, unabashedly, and he knew Jim loved him back in his own way.

 

            The attraction hadn’t come until later and it had hit John suddenly and intensely. They’d gone exploring when they were fourteen and found a lake just a few miles from the orphanage. It became their place away from the orphanage. They’d spent their nights there, building a fire and sleeping outside, then sneaking back in the morning before anyone noticed they were gone. It was their own little secret and John found it thrilling. Just another thing they shared.

            They’d been down at the lake one night in late August. It was a scorching night and John’s clothes were stuck to him with sweat. He couldn’t stand being too close to the fire, but it was their only light source, so the fire stayed.

            Jim had decided that they should go swimming. He began to strip off his sweaty clothes without preamble. John stared, dumbfounded, as Jim’s lithe body became uncovered. Jim was all pale flesh pulled tight over his bones. John had a sudden urge to press his lips against Jim’s hip, his navel, his collarbone. He was sweating from the heat, making him look almost glowing in the moonlight. John felt heat rise to his cheeks as he watched Jim take his clothes off. He’d been too naïve to recognize his attraction for what it was. All he knew was that he wanted to touch Jim. _Badly._

He hadn’t though. He’d restrained himself ever since. Having no idea what Jim was interested in – men, women, kangaroos – John had decided he wasn’t going to press the matter. He knew he could never be smart enough or interesting enough to catch Jim’s fancy in that way. John wasn’t going to jeopardize what they had.

            So John distracted himself with pretty girls. They were a good distraction and much easier to figure out than Jim Moriarty. Still, when he went to bed at night, he wasn’t thinking about Marta’s soft lips, or Irene’s long legs. He was thinking about pale skin, glistening in the brightness of the moon, before Jim dove into the water, forever out of reach.

 

                                                                        ***

 

            **John Watson: 17 Years Old -**

John had left the orphanage, having become of age, and was working in a shop in town. He’d made sure to get a job close to the orphanage so that he could stay with Jim. Jim had yet to leave the orphanage and so John didn’t want to be too far away from him. He worried about what Jim would do on his own.

            John stood behind the counter while Jim sat eating a cornetto off to the side. The way he was licking at it seemed almost pornographic to John. It seemed unfair that someone could be that unknowingly sexual with no interest in the act itself.

            He wanted to shove the cone away and find a different way to occupy Jim’s mouth. He groaned softly to himself and shifted uncomfortably. If Jim kept that up much longer, John was going to have an erection at work. He couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing.

            ‘You’re blushing,” Jim noted, lapping at the ice cream.

            “No I’m not,” John said, clearing his throat. “It’s just warm in here.”

            Jim opened his mouth to say something more, but they were interrupted by the bell chiming as someone entered. John glanced up to greet a customer and was surprised to find Hannah standing there. John cursed his rotten luck. He couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if Jim had pressed him about his obvious arousal.

            “Hi!” John said, cheerfully.

            “Hi, John!” Hannah said, walking over and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

            John glanced over and found Jim scowling. He didn’t dare hope that Jim was upset because he was jealous. At least, not _that_ kind of jealous. He was probably just annoyed with having John’s attention taken away.

            “I wasn’t expecting you today,” John said, smiling at her. “What a pleasant surprise.”

            Hannah was John’s most recent distraction. She stayed until John finished his shift and then they decided to go grab something to eat. John invited Jim along, but Jim declined, as John knew he would. As they set off in different directions, John turned back and watched Jim disappear around the corner.

            John knew he was going the wrong way.

 

                                                            ***

 

            John had had no idea about the drugs. If he had, he would have found a way to help Jim. He would have put a stop to it. John couldn’t help blaming himself for it, as he had been keeping his distance from Jim in order to save himself from the embarrassment.

            One night there had been loud knocking on John’s door. Pulling him out of sleep, John tugged on his dressing gown and padded to his front door. He pulled it open to find Jim hanging off another man. John’s entire body went rigid. The man looked dangerous and John immediately wanted to snatch Jim away from the stranger.

            “This yours?” the man asked, gesturing to Jim. “He told me to bring him here.”

            John nodded and put his arm around Jim. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he murmured.

            “Johnny!” Jim said, gazing up at him. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked like a mess.

            “He hasn’t slept in three days,” the man said, turning around. “Might want to see to that.”

            “Um, thanks,” John said, not sure what else to say.

            “See ya, Jim,” the man said, giving a halfhearted wave as he made his way down the stairs. John quickly closed the door and locked it.

            Jim was grinding his teeth and his eyes kept darting about as if he couldn’t concentrate on one thing. John was absolutely furious and dragged Jim over to the sofa, depositing him on it a bit carelessly.

            “What the fuck did you take, Jim?” John asked accusingly.

            “Not sure,” Jim said, rubbing his cheek against the fabric of the sofa. “Feels like molly. I think it was cut with something else though.”

            “Jesus,” John said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jim, what the _fuck!_ ”

            “What?” Jim asked, glancing up at him. “I’m just having a bit of fun. Like you, with those girls you insist on pretending to date.”

            John’s blood ran cold. Did Jim know about John’s true feelings? “I’m not pretending, Jim,” John snapped at him. “And what you’re doing is not fun, it’s stupid.”

            Jim pouted for all of ten seconds before bolting upright. “Johnny! Johnny! Johnny! You should do it with me! It would be amazing!”

            John didn’t even want to admit where his mind went with Jim’s suggestion that they ‘do it’. “Jim, I’m not doing that.”

            “Come on!” Jim whined, tugging on John’s hand. “Quit being boring.”

            John’s lips pressed into a hard line. “I’m not going to fight with you while you’re high, Jim,” John informed him. “Now go to sleep.”

            John turned on his heels and went into his bedroom. If he said anything more, he would just drive Jim further away. How had he not seen this? How long had Jim been self-destructing?

            John was still awake when Jim crept into his room and got into bed with him. John closed his eyes and just held his friend. For a moment, it felt like old times, and John was going to allow himself to pretend. That seemed to be all he did lately anyways.

            “If I’m not allowed to leave, you aren’t allowed to either, okay?” John whispered into the darkness, his arms securely around Jim.

           “I haven’t left,” Jim murmured. “I’m right here.”

            John huffed in annoyance and buried his face in Jim’s neck. “No checking out, okay? No matter how bad things get, I want you here. It doesn’t count if you’re high. I don’t want you to change. I don’t want you altered. Just stay you. Can you do that for me, Jim?”

            He felt Jim nod against him and press in closer. John kept Jim close, safe in the home they’d made in each other’s arms.

 

                                                                        ***

 

**John Watson: 18 Years Old-**

Jim was finally out of the orphanage and living with John. John had agreed to the arrangement on one condition; that Jim stop using. At least with them being flatmates, John could keep a close eye on Jim.

            He didn’t even know why they bothered having two beds anyway. Every night that John didn’t have company, Jim would sneak into John’s bed. Sleeping next to Jim Moriarty was like sleeping with a set of knives. He was all sharp bones that had a tendency to dig into John during the night. Still, John didn’t have it in him to kick Jim out of his bed. Not when he knew how much they both needed it – the comfort of knowing the other was there.

He learned to adapt. They began sleeping back to chest, with John spooning Jim from behind. That way most of Jim’s sharp bits were facing the other way. Of course, it did lead to a few awkward mornings where John woke up with his morning wood pressed up against Jim. In those instances, John brushed it off as well as he could, blaming biology, and scurried off to make tea. If Jim had a problem with it, he never spoke up about it, and he continued finding his way into John’s bed.

 

                                                ***

 

John’s entire body felt heavy as he made his way up to his flat. His relationship with Hannah had finally ended after half a year of dating. John felt like he shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet he felt knocked off guard by it. His trepidation wasn’t really about Hannah at all, it was about Jim. Everything was about Jim.

Now, without a girlfriend, John had no excuse. There were no barriers between himself and Jim. How long would he hold out before he told Jim the truth? Or more likely, Jim would see the truth because he’s brilliant. John was honestly surprised he’d held out as long as he had.

He had dreaded going home since it happened three days ago. He didn’t want Jim to find out because that would be the end for them. Jim would be disgusted by John’s confession. Jim’s never been sentimental so why would he start now? Hannah was expendable, Jim was not.

John unlocked the door to the flat and heard a strange muffled noise coming from the living room. Their flat wasn’t very big and so sound carried throughout the entire place. John listened for a moment and heard Jim talking.

“Do you understand now?” Jim was saying in the other room.

John heard a scraping sound and then a strangled cry. He rushed in to make sure Jim wasn’t hurt. Instead, he joined a scene he wasn’t ready for. His eyes took everything in at once and yet none of it was processing.

 

_Hannah tied to a chair._

_Jim standing beside her._

_Blood._

_Lots of blood._

_Jim holding a knife._

_Blood on the carpet._

_Blood on Jim._

_Not Jim’s blood._

_Hannah was hurt._

_Jim was hurting Hannah._

 

“Jim?” John called out. He couldn’t understand. His brain _wouldn’t_ understand. He needed Jim to explain it to him. Jim would know how to explain it.

Jim shouted in surprise and John noticed a flick of the knife in Jim’s hand. It sliced against Hannah’s throat, blood spilling down her front. John stood there and watched as his ex-girlfriend bled to death in his living room.

Jim turned around and stared at John. His eyes were bright and he looked so _alive_ that John’s breath caught in his throat. “You weren’t supposed to see,” Jim said, wiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve, but all that accomplished was smearing blood across Jim’s face.

John’s knees buckled and he dropped to the floor hard. He looked up at Jim feeling helpless. What had he done to Jim?

Jim walked over and knelt down in front of John. Despite his appearance, John wasn’t afraid of him. He could never be afraid of Jim.

“What did you do, Jim?” John breathed out, not looking at the dead body behind Jim. He resolutely was not going to look at that.

“She hurt you,” Jim said evenly.

“No, she didn’t,” John replied. He placed his hands on his knees and felt like his entire body might just collapse inward. He felt like crying and laughing all at once because it was just so absolutely insane to think that Jim had killed a girl for hurting John when John had been using her to hide his feelings for Jim. It was terrible and John knew he should feel guilty but instead all he could think was that he had actually hidden something from Jim.

“What do you mean?” Jim asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Hannah didn’t hurt me,” John said, shaking his head. “She couldn’t hurt me.”

Jim still had the knife in his hand. John wrapped his hand around Jim’s and they held the knife together. They were both responsible for this.

Jim made a funny noise in his throat. “It hurts, John,” Jim said, his hands beginning to shake. “It hurts to feel this way. How do people do this?”

Jim looked small and he was quivering as if breaking apart. It wasn’t right. John knew he had done this. He had made Jim feel this way. It didn’t add up. John had walked in on Jim _killing_ someone for him and yet he was completely steady. He had done this to Jim, had turned Jim into this, by not telling Jim the truth. It was his fault and he had broken Jim. He had broken Jim and he needed to fix it. He would put him back together, piece by piece, until he was whole again. He could do that. He would do that for Jim because he had turned Jim into a murderer over something that didn’t even matter. Jim mattered and John was going to show him.

“I know,” John said softly. “It’s my fault. I know. I’m going to make it better.”

He wasn’t afraid anymore.

John pulled Jim forward and then their lips were meeting. John was kissing Jim with such intensity that his entire body was trembling. Jim’s breathing became harsh as he dropped the knife in favor of clinging to John. John could feel his stomach fluttering at the realization that he was finally, _finally,_ kissing Jim Moriarty.

            He began to peel Jim’s clothes off because they were dirty and covered in blood. He knew that he should have more of a problem with the fact that they were snogging in front of a dead body. But all his mind could grasp was that he had Jim in his arms and Jim wasn’t pulling away.

            “Jim,” John groaned out, his voice all needy. It should be pathetic, perhaps it was, but John was too gone to care. Jim killed someone for him. Jim Moriarty took a knife and killed someone he thought had hurt John. It was mad beyond belief, but John had never been more certain of Jim’s feelings for him. Jim Moriarty loved him. A sick, fucked up, twisted version of love, but it was love all the same. John wanted it. He wanted Jim’s wrong version. It would consume him, he knew, but it would be brilliant.

            John couldn’t bring himself to hate Jim for what he had done. After all, John would have killed someone for hurting Jim. He nearly had, back when they were younger. He’d beaten Carl Powers to a bloody pulp. He might not have stopped if people hadn’t pulled him off. He could understand that raw, urgent _need._

            “You don’t hate me,” Jim said, staring up at John incredulously. “You’re kissing me.”

            “Well, I _was,”_ John said petulantly. “Before you so rudely interrupted.”

            Jim looked as if he were about to laugh. “You’re not frightened of me.”

            “You don’t scare me, Jim,” John informed him. “You never have.”

            “John,” Jim breathed out. He reached up and touched John’s face as if checking to make sure he was real. “I don’t get it, you’re not like me.”

            “No, I’m not like you,” John agreed, nipping at Jim’s lower lip. “But I understand.”

            “How?”

            John smiled and deepened the kiss. He slid his tongue into Jim’s mouth and flicked it against Jim’s own. Jim moaned and arched underneath him.

            “I would kill for you too.” John said it like a promise. Jim shivered underneath him in response. “I guess that’s just a side effect of loving you.”

            Jim’s breath caught. “Y-you only like pretty girls,” Jim said accusingly.

            John huffed out a laugh. “Well, you may not be a girl, but you are very pretty,” he informed Jim, kissing his way down Jim’s neck.

            Jim groaned and bared his neck to John. “Do you really mean that?”

            “Mmhmm,” John hummed against Jim’s skin.

            “I thought – I thought – “ Jim said, clinging to John.

            “Whatever it is you thought, you were wrong,” John informed him, sliding one of his hands through Jim’s hair. “I should cherish the moment, it doesn’t happen every day.”

            John smiled down at Jim and realized that he _loved_ the way Jim looked at him – like he was something wonderful to behold.

            “Are you mine, John?” Jim asked, his voice slightly pleading. “Are you finally mine?”

            “Yes,” John confirmed as he kissed Jim again. It was a lie, of course. Perhaps not a lie but a fabrication. In truth, John had always been Jim’s.

 

                                                            ***

 

**Jim Moriarty: 17 Years Old-**

Jim had thought this was beyond him. He thought he would never have John in such a way, and certainly not after having just killed someone. He had expected repulsion, not affection. He should have known better. One of the best things about John was that he was always surprising.

            Kissing John made Jim feel the way he did when he was high. He felt out of control to the point where he wasn’t in charge of his body. There was just the euphoria of the high and the sensations it brought. Except this time his drug was John and John wouldn’t get angry with him for using.

            They’d left the dead body in the livingroom and relocated to John’s bed. John was touching Jim in every place he’d always wanted. It was a dream come true. When it was his turn, he used his mouth to taste every bit of John he’d ever fantasized about.

            By the end of their exploration of each other, they were both hard and panting. Jim felt a heady rush knowing that things were only going to get better.

            They did. John’s hand wrapped around Jim’s cock and Jim fucked his fist until he was shaking and coming and falling apart underneath John. He then used his mouth to get John off. He was sloppy and overeager, taking too much of John in and making himself gag. Still, he was determined and succeeded in making John come into his mouth. He’d never felt so accomplished and as a bonus he got to taste more of John.

            As they tangled up in each other, Jim knew that something would have to be done about the dead girl soon. But for the moment he had John all to himself. No more sharing. No more of John getting hurt and Jim hurting people in turn. John had promised he would do the same.

            Now they could only hurt each other, which would mean killing each other. Jim found the notion an enticing one. He would ask John to strangle him so he could be in John’s arms as the oxygen failed to reach his lungs. He would fight against John, he would have to out of survival instincts, but strong, capable John would hold him down.

            If he in had to kill John, he would want to do it slowly. Perhaps inject John with a virus and watch it slowly eat him from the inside. John would look so beautiful dying. Jim smiled at the thought.

            John, wonderful John, who had ignored all the warnings. He’d stayed, despite what everyone said. He’d seen the worst of Jim and yet it had only made John love him more. They were both in trouble and delightfully fucked up. This was more than love. A dangerous kind of love. It was obsession.

            From the beginning, it had all been converging on an inescapable conclusion – they were trouble, they were dangerous, and they would never get away from each other.

            Jim had known. He had known it all along. He had waited and waited, patiently, for John to know the truth. This sort of inevitability between them. There was no other way things could have turned out. It was always going to be this.

            Jim looked up at John and he could tell from the way John smiled and hummed and kissed Jim ever so softly. John had figured it out as well.

           

**Author's Note:**

> I missed writing Jim/John. It's been a while! Hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading.


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